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Peggy was calling us into the house, and half an hour later we sat down to our evening meal, served by old Tipau’s slaves. Stewart’s dining room was a large thatched house open to the air, and decorated with hanging baskets of ferns. A man stood at one end, holding aloft a torch which illuminated the place with a flickering glare. Peggy had gone off to sup with her women, and Tipau preferred to eat his meal alone.

“How long will it take you to complete your vessel?” I asked Morrison.

“Six months or more. The work goes slowly with so few tools.”

“You hope to reach Batavia in her?”

“Yes. From there we can get passage home on a Dutch ship. Five of us are to make the attempt—Norman, McIntosh, Muspratt, Byrne, and I. Stewart and Coleman prefer to wait here for an English ship.”

“I feel the same,” I remarked. “I am happy in Tautira, and glad of the chance to work on my Indian dictionary.”

“As for me,” said Stewart, “I find Tahiti a pleasant place enough. And I have no desire to be drowned!”

“Drowned be damned!” exclaimed Morrison impatiently. “Our little schooner will be staunch enough to sail around the world!”